


Right Cross

by triesquid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Lydia Martin, Canon Compliant, F/M, Masterplan, Missing Scene, Peter Hale Sass Master of the Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triesquid/pseuds/triesquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jackson ceased-to-be a freakin' lizard and Lydia has him packed away in the back of Stiles' Jeep, she finally gets the chance to address a number of lingering issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Cross

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Masterplan scene because, seriously, Lydia totally deserved some closure and restitution when it comes to Peter Hale. Plus, bamf!Lydia is bamf.

Lydia was relieved and angry and wanting to beat the hell out of all the idiotic men surrounding her—and _oh my god_ , she was _so_ not being Alison’s friend anymore, but she really probably would anyway, but Alison’s totally going to have t _o pay_ for being such a psychotic bitch and trying to _kill_ people, and _what the hell was with that anyway ?  Grief was only an excuse that went so far into acceptability.—_ and really wants to know why they all felt it was so desperately important _to keep all of this from her?_

_Not a mushroom, thank you very much._

And Lydia really didn’t care that she wasn’t punctuating correctly because— _seriously_ —they all fucking sucked.

She tucked Jackson safely into Stiles’ Jeep and wasn’t remotely surprised when Stiles was right behind her, handing her his coat so that Jackson had _something_ to wear while he was being all shocky and not-dead.

Lydia's breathe stopped in her lungs as everything suddenly hit her in Technicolor and surround-sound:  Jackson wasn’t dead.

Jackson was a monster, but Jackson wasn’t _dead_.

Jackson was a monster, but he was _her monster_.

...

...

...

Oddly, she thought she could live with that.

Turning towards Stiles, because Stiles deserved some sort of fucking award for what he had been through and what he had done today, Lydia hugged him as tightly as she could.  “Thank you for helping me save him.”

Stiles put one arm around her and gave her the smallest of squeezes, like he was afraid that he wouldn’t let go if he did more than that, and—he might be right.

He had that Thing, that forever-long Thing about her.

But, Lydia could already feel it beginning to fade.  The realization of Lydia and Jackson’s _whatever_ was sinking in, and she could just _feel_ that near-obsession step sideways and begin to mellow into something that—someday, someday _soon_ , she really hoped—they’d be able to call friendship.

Maybe even best friends.

Maybe even Pack or whatever-they-were-calling-it.

“It’s what I do.”

Lydia pulled away and Gibs-smacked Stiles.  Hard.  Melancholy and relief shifting to anger again.

It was totally understandable given the circumstances.

“You idiot.  You selfish, life-ruining idiot,” Lydia was managing to whisper but just barely.  This was private, and Lydia didn’t want to share this moment with anyone else _but_ Stiles.  “If you ever keep anything this huge from me ever again, you’re going to wish that I had let lizard-Jackson eat you.” 

Stiles looked shock.  Repentant and shocked, but he nodded, dropping his eyes to look at the cement between them. 

Lydia shifted so that she could catch his eyes again.  “Remember, I’m a genius, okay?  I can help.  I can help you."  Lydia gestured to collected group of humans and werewolves kinda just milling about talking about the lack-of-Principle-Argent that was so going to be a problem later.  "I can help them.”

Stiles nodded again and kinda _shrank_ into himself.

Lydia really couldn’t handle that defeated look, so much like the one that Jackson had worn before he had— _become a beautiful butterfly_.

What the actual fuck?  Maybe she was the one who needed the shock-blanket.

She hugged Stiles again, just wrapped him up, trying to anchor him down and pull him back.  “We’re gonna be friends.  Best friends.  The human part of all of these monsters, right?”

Stiles nodded against her shoulder.

“Good,” she stepped back, false-bravado smile stretching her face, and she felt her face freeze for just a second.  “Stiles, is there a man speaking with Derek—that’s his name, right?  Derek?—right now?”

Stiles kinda haltingly, stutteringly—like he was a robot with a glitch in his servos—turned his head to look over his shoulder to where Lydia had nodded.  “Yep.  That’s Peter, Psycho-Asshat of the Universe.”

Lydia could hear the history with a capital HISTORY even through that dull, broken voice.

Maybe they all needed shock-blankets.

“Excuse me a moment,” and Lydia was stalking, stomping—all sorts of S-words that were filled with anger and vengeance and, just, _yeah_. 

Tapping Peter on the shoulder to get his attention, Lydia pulled her fist back and delivered a right-cross to Peter’s chin.

He hit the ground with the most pleasant _thud_.

Oh, and _there_ was satisfaction.  She’d missed that.

Lydia stood over Peter, foot on his throat, and growled the best growl that she could find.

It was a pretty good growl.  Peter and Derek both flinched away from the sound.

“If you ever, ever try to mind-rape me _or anyone else in the History of EVER_ again, I **_will end you_**.”  She just _pressed_ harder for emphasis and felt Peter squeak just a tiny bit.  _Good._   “I will find you, string your mangy ass from a tree, and I will fucking _end you_.”  Yep, that was vulgarity coming out of her properly breed mouth.  Screw breeding.  Screw manners.  _Screw propriety_.  It hadn’t been saving her ass lately.  “You owe me an apology, and you are totally paying for the dry cleaning that is _entirely your fault_ because you had me _digging up your fucking **grave**._ ”  Lydia raised her foot from Peter’s throat and waited expectantly.  “Now, what do you say?”  She prompted, hand to ear.

“I am eternally sorry for what I have done to you.  May I treat you to a manicure in penance?”  Always with the fucking sass.  Even when he’d been mind-fucking her, he had been all sass and snark all the time.

And kinda hot.

Just.  _No._

Lydia considered him for a moment and finally stepped back.  “Okay, but remember—”

“You’ll end me.”

“You know I will.”

Peter smiled, and it finally seemed like, maybe, things were clicking back into place.  Most of the nightmare fading into subconsciously remembered horror that wasn’t going to trip her up every moment of every day.  “That I do.  I do not doubt it.”

“Good.”

As Lydia was walking back to Stiles, to the Jeep, to Jackson’s still form, she heard Peter say to Derek quietly, “We’re really quite lucky that she didn’t Turn.  We both would have been dead in a week.”

“No," Derek's voice reached Lydia, sharp and decisive.  "No, I wouldn't have been dead.  She would have killed your ass, and I would have had an Alpha to follow who wasn’t a complete psycho trying to destroy everything.”

“Not a complete psycho.”  And, there was that sass again.   _Jesus fuck._

Derek roared.

“Just for the record,” she called over her shoulder, the quiet buzz of the room abruptly ceasing.  “You all fucking suck.”

Lydia just smiled and climbed into the Jeep.


End file.
